


Curi(e)osity

by Mightymightygal



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't Take This Too Seriously, Drugs, F/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Blind Betrayal, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, being human isn't easy, not-so-serious fic, set after Minutemen ending, spoilers for Emergent Behavior, spoilers for blind betrayal, spoilers for the whole game in fact
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-30 13:55:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10164425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mightymightygal/pseuds/Mightymightygal
Summary: After more than 200 years as a Miss Nanny robot, becoming human isn't as simple as it seems for Curie.Mortality and basic body needs already jeopardized her Great Projects For the Commonwealth, but feelings are even worst!A story about parasite thoughts, socially awkward synths and Fancy Lads Snack Cakes.





	1. Heatwave and Rum

Codsworth had told her today was July 13th, as if it could explain the blazing sun outside. The day was possibly the hottest she had experienced since she’d become human, and there was one thing for sure: she hated that. Hearing from the relative quietness in Sanctuary, she might not be the only one.  Yet someone was hammering across the street, and Curie felt a faint headache rising, a hint of pain pulsing behind her eyes, as  the result of her hours hard work mixed with inhaling mildly toxic chemicals in her lab, and that annoying noise again and again...

Time to take a break, she thought, her dry mouth remembering her she had not been properly hydrated for at least three hours.

She took a glass bottle and went outside to fill it with fresh water. She couldn’t help blinking as the bright sun hit her weak eyes and sweating as she pushed on the pump’s arm.

Damn this human body, its stupidly diverting basic needs and its overall weakness, she thought. She knew that the human frailty was the very reason why their science had been so imaginative, but as a robot, she’d never imagined how painful it was to be one of them.

As she drained the bottle, unable to quench her thirst, she couldn’t help but regret her infallible iron body.

A shadow grew from behind her, forcing her to compose herself. Even before he talked, Curie recognized him, for a smell of old dust mixed with Jet and rum always surrounded him.

“Hey Sunshine, whatcha doing here in a day like this?”

She sighed and faked a smile, facing the ghoul as he lifted his hand to protect his dark eyes from sunlight:

“On no please, monsieur Hancock, don’t talk about sunshine! I think I now hate sun even more than I hated radstorms this fall.”

The ghoul laughed, and took her by the shoulder as he walked toward Sanctuary’s newly founded tavern:

“Come on, let’s have a drink together. That new place Nora’s decorated is fancy and warm, and you’ll tell me about all your little disappointments.”

The bar was pleasant indeed, and Curie thanked Hancock for the ice cold Nuka Cola and sipped it silently as the good ghoul mayor joked with the pretty waitress. Seeing him so confident and outgoing made her felt even more awkward and she bowed her head down, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing off the old label on her bottle.

“Here’s that face again.” Hancock stated, swallowing a Mentat pill with his drink, “So tell me, what’s wrong inside this cute scientist’s mind?”

“I think that maybe I’ve made a mistake…” she muttered as she tried to avoid his gaze, “I think being human may not be the perfect option, after all.”

“Alright sunshine, you’ll have to tell me more about that, but first…” He gestured to the waitress, ordered a bottle of rum, and then poured a generous amount of it in Curie’s Nuka Cola.

“Monsieur Hancock, non !” Curie exclaimed, her cheeks red with embarrassment, “Alcohol consumption isn’t recommended when the weather is this hot.”

“Trust me, honey, rum makes anything better.” He leaned casually in his chair and asked her: “Now, about these regrets, why don’t you like your brand new synth body, after all?”

She grimaced as alcohol burnt its way down her throat, coughed a bit and answered:

“Being human… It sounds almost like a fraud. Human beings are prone to various weaknesses like these headaches caused either of weariness, hot weather, bright lights or any other futile reason, they can be damaged beyond repair with accident as stupid as falling from a tree or a mere bloodbug bite, and their brain can’t focus properly as it’s always full of emotions and random thoughts, like, you see, I was in my lab this morning, thinking about a way to reinforce the last known bee hives, something important, something that could save mankind and suddenly, out of nowhere came the thought that the tradition of kissing your lover was quite strange, it can’t be that pleasant to touch someone else’s mouth with your own mouth, isn’t it? Of course it can’t, and when the said mouth is surrounded with, let’s say, a beard, it just cannot be pleasant at all, it must be rough and prickly and… Well, to make it short, I’m unable to use this organic brain properly.”

Hancock remained still for a moment, a half-smile playing on his wrecked face. He was genuinely impressed she hadn’t chocked on her tirade, and amused by how she’d quickly become tipsy with her Nuka and rum, and yet, he was a bit worried about her. As some sort of missing link between a pre-war robot  and an actual human-blending gen-3 synth, she somehow looked like the impossible mix between a courteous pre-war teacher and a disturbed teenager. Hancock liked that.

“Honey” he finally stated, “It’s rather common for some people to think about kisses and hugs and all the lovely things they do with a partner when they’re.. How can I call it… Let’s say, when they’re in need.”

“In need of what?” she asked, wide eyed and blinking in incomprehension.

“It’s up to you to define that part, Sunshine…” he answered her, his deep black eyes twinkling with mischief.  “As I always say, the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”

“If I’m not mistaking, monsieur Hancock,” Curie said with a frown, “it’s not your quote, but Oscar Wilde’s.”

He laughed and drained his glass with a “Well, you pre-war relics aren’t funny. You’re ruining all my tricks.”

He rose with a cheerful nod and left her, puzzled. Hand on the door, he sighed and returned to her, before asking with a sly smile:

“But, tell me Curie, who’s the beard?”   


	2. Dreams and ghouls

She was inside her robot body again. No more aching legs, blisters or stiffness pain, she was floating above the ground, the discreet humming of her reactor lulling her as she transferred her data analyses into a terminal. But there were something wrong:  she couldn’t find any way to plug her unit with the computer, and she had only two eyes, and one of her arm was broken, and…

The scene changed: no more vault lab, but the Prydwen’s power armor deck. Her laser-rifle arm was stuck in the oddest position she’d ever seen, its joint jammed with rust.

“Excuse-me Monsieur” she asked the power-armored man nearby “My defensive system requires some technical assistance, and as there’s no more certified technician available, a Brotherhood of Steel mechanic like you seems to be a valid option.”

Her social recognition programming stated that the man’s face was stern, maybe angry, and the program advised her that it’d be much better to backpedal, but the man asked, with no trace of aggressiveness:

“Are you the modified Miss Nanny unit from Vault 81?”

“Correct. I am Vault 81 contagions vulnerability robotic infirmary engineer, but usually one calls me Curie. I am very pleased to meet you, Monsieur…?”

He shook his head, brows furrowed, but answered nonetheless:

“I am Paladin Danse. I am Nora’s sponsor.”

“A paladin? It is truly fascinating! Are you and Madame leading a crusade like the Knight Templars of yesteryear, monsieur?”

His brown eyes wide with puzzlement, he crossed his fully armored arms in front of his chest but didn’t answer her. Instead, he gestured toward a nearby workbench and asked:

“What is wrong with your defensive system, unit?”

Strange, loud and repeated knocks dissipated the scene around her, and she woke up, it took Curie a second to remember where and when she was: Nora’s home, Diamond City, July 30th  2288.

Dreaming was still a most intriguing experience, she thought as she rubbed her eyes and got up.

As she rejoined the main room, she found out that the knocks only came from Nora, twitching a piece of armor on her workbench. Curie greeted her, poured herself a tall glass of Brahmin milk, then sat at the table with her worn notebook, and just like every morning, she scribbled down all the elements from the dream she could recall.

“It is incredible how this brains works, Madame!” she cheerfully exclaimed to Nora after a while, “It seems that my robotic data almost fully osmosed with my human memories.”

Nora put down her work and turned to Curie, intrigued. The scientist went on :

“I have been often dreaming of old memories recently, and oddly enough, even when acquired within my former body, their images appear as if I had already been human at this time, yet very incomplete...”

Vault 111′s last survivor smiled and asked her if it was good. Curie gave her a puzzled look and shrugged:

“It is neither good or bad, Madame, but merely facts. My robotic body could not feel, smell, touch or taste anything, so as far as I remember the events, these aspects are still missing data. On the contrary, all that was recorded through my audio and video sensors seems transfigured and very human.They have nothing in common with what a Miss Nanny unit could experience... Therefore my organic brain have somehow connected the dots to make them work with its own operating system, probably to preserve itself from the disrupting nature of my existence.”  
  
The other women nodded, brows furrowed, and cracked a smile.

"I think you’re the smartest seven months old baby in the whole world, Curie.”

“Oh, thank you, Madame, but I must admit that I do cheat, as my brain is fully mature and my conscience is more than two hundred years old.”

Nora chuckled and hugged her lightly.

“Of course you are a genius, sweetheart, but I’m still proud of how well you are adapting yourself.”

Curie lift her chin and smiled slightly, a hint of pride making her heart twitch in her chest. Then, she checked her notes one last time and finally got up, cleaned her empty glass and got fully dressed. She was about to buckle up her combat armor chest plate when Nora asked her:

“Are you up to face some feral ghouls? ‘Cause I used to know a pretty nice bookstore before the war, and it’s on our way back to Sancturay Hills...”  
  
Curie sighed. Of course, books were always welcome, but she hated to kill, even feral ghouls. Yet, she knew that Nora had probably already planned all of their journey back to Sanctuary -back to Shaun- so Curie didn’t dare to propose any alternative and followed her friend through Diamond City first, and then through the ruined remains of Boston.  
  
They were in the shop’s neighborhood around noon. At first sight, the bookstore wasn’t exactly welcoming, with its walls crumbling down and the smell of burnt plastic that surrounded the building but it seemed quiet, and Curie merrily pointed that there were no ghouls around.

“None that we’ve seen, yet...” muttered Nora as they took cover behind what had once been a shining Corvega sport coupe.   
Almost as a response, a loud growl echoed in the ruins and a bloated glowing ghoul emerged from behind the bookstore’s desk.

“Now that’s one nasty piece of shit...” stated Nora, slowly taking aim with her modified laser musket.   
“But... Maybe we should try to talk him?” Asked Curie as she stood up, “Sometimes, Ghouls are...”

_Peaceful,_ she had no time to go on as Nora shot a laser ray right through the glowing ghoul’s arm, bursting its bloated muscle with a disgusting, wet sound. The glowing one slowly turned around to face them and ran in their direction.  
  
Curie shot. Laser burnt a hole through the glowing abdomen. Another shot hit his chest, spilling glowing green blood and rotten entrails all over the floor and wall around them. It was coming close, too close to stay safe.

“Retreat!” Nora yelled as Curie felt the glowing one’s burning hot fingers grasping on her neck, attempting to choke her. She struggled with fury, her fists tightly clenched, and there was a loud pop and everything stopped in one last burst of radioactive grime.  
For a second or so, she felt disoriented, and soon Nora’s hand was on her back:

“Are you okay, Curie?” she asked, concerned.The French girl smiled a little and nodded :  
" Again, I have survived the hostilities.” 

Using her sleeve, Nora wiped some filth off Curie’s face, before giving her some Rad-X pills and an upset look :  
“You have to be more careful, Curie!” she lectured her, her voice yet sweet and motherly, “Remember, you’re not a robot anymore. Besides, _you_ are the doctor, not me!”  

“I know that very well, Madame. I am very sorry.”

She meant it, she was ashamed of her reckless attitude, but there was also something else. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, her hands were lightly shaking, and for the first time since she’d been human, she genuinely felt it, deep down her throat, the furious, dizzying fear of death she’d sensed so many time in her patients’s eyes.

It took her a moment to compose herself, before following Nora inside the bookstore’s basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Kuddos are enjoyed, comments makes me alive !
> 
> Paladin Danse will come back in chapter 3, and for real this time! 
> 
> You can also follow me on tumblr : mightymightygal.tumblr.com


	3. Books and blood

The books weighed like lead in her bag, causing her back to ache from shoulder to hips, but Curie was doing her best not to show.

Nora had told her to be reasonable, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from stacking books in her backpack, as everything seemed so important: science, biology, philosophy and even some novels and children’s book. She’d never understood the importance of fiction for her fellow scientists in Vault 81, and now that she was supposed to be human, it seemed appropriate to start taking interest in literature… Nora had warned her that it was silly and that she would probably hate it anyway, but her curiosity had won over her rational sense, and now she had to walk for another ten miles with seven books on her back and four in her pockets, and as she was watching Nora walking ten feet ahead of her, she was starting to regret it.

When they entered Concord, Curie was exhausted and Nora was bragging about how she should have listened to her and that she could still drop some books off. Despite her cheerful tone, Curie could tell by the way Nora crossed her arms in front of her chest and by her tight-lipped smile that her vault dweller friend was annoyed. Curie knew it was because she wanted to rejoin her son. To Nora, every inch closer to the Red Rocket Station seemed longer than the one before, and her irritation started to show.

“You know, I am very sorry to be a burden, but it was impossible for me to leave these authentic testimonies of human knowledge behind us…”

The older woman rolled her eyes, not the least convinced by the value of romance novels in human knowledge, but Curie went on:

“Besides, if I must be of any help in your attempts to rebuild the Commonwealth, I have to…”

The stench made her stop dead. There was something wrong in the air, something that scared Curie. An acrid smoke filled the northern streets of Concord, carrying a gruesome smell of burnt flesh. The well-lit red rocket that signaled their destination from way below the hill was drowned in sinister black swirls and clouds.

“Shaun!” Nora cried out as ran to the station. The scientist followed her, suddenly forgetting about her pain and her weariness. The Red Rocket could not have fallen; it was one of the safest places in the Commonwealth, it could not be true…

Automatic turrets shot at them when they came closer from the newly built defensive wall, and they had no choice but to shoot back, destroying what had taken so much time to build.

When they walked though the smashed gates, the first thing Curie saw was the pile of super mutants corpses burning under the billboard on the hill, then she noticed the pool of blood and, in the middle of it, the man in the ruined power armor, sat against the red brick wall. Nora was already by his side, her eyes wide and her body shaking, yelling about Shaun, her voice breaking with panic.

Curie dropped her bag and dashed to join them, fast enough to hear Paladin Danse muttering that the kid was safe, in Sanctuary Hills, with Mama Murphy. He was alarmingly pale and the right side of his power armor was almost destroyed. The scientist crouched next to him and checked his arm, where the armor frame had shattered to the point of cutting through Danse’s flesh.

“Damage report?” she asked, waving her hand to Nora to ask for a Stimpak she injected in the former paladin’s neck,for it was the only place where some skin showed out of the power armor. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He answered her, his voice even weaker than before, “I’m only worried about my power armor, the exit command is dead.”

Curie doubted his words. Blood dripped from his right biceps through the metallic frame, and his skin had turned into an alarming grayish white hue. She couldn’t remember having seen him any weaker, and according to her quick examination, he was seriously injured. 

Yet, he stood up, or at least he tried to, before he faltered and crashed against the wall with a loud bang, his left shoulder plate slightly wringing from the shock. Curie quickly understood that he was unconscious.

“Nora, we need to get him out of this armor, now!”

The last survivor from Vault 111 got on her feet and ran to the garage, jumped in a power armor and came back in a minute, ready to maintain Danse standing while Curie disconnected the fusion core in his back. The metallic shell opened with a hiss and the Paladin passed out in the scientist’s arms.

“I can’t hold him back! He’s too heavy!” she cried out as she tried to hold him, the weight of the man unsustainable for her slender arms and shoulders. 

Nora, still clad in her power armor, helped her to bring the man inside and lay him on his bed. As soon as she could, Curie surveyed his pulse and injected him another stimpak. As she had suspected from the blood and the deep wound in his biceps, he was badly injured, maybe a laceration of the brachial artery, and on his forearm very nasty bruises indicated what looked like an internal fracture just above the wrist. Curie made a very quick check, looking for any other serious injuries, and hopefully finding none aside from minor cuts and contusions. Yet, he needed medical assistance, and blood. She turned around to see what she could use. Of course, it was impossible for him to nearly die in her clinic in Sanctuary Hills, it had to be there, in the middle of an antique gas-station, where she couldn’t find anything to stitch him up or give him the blood he needed…

“I brought you the med-kit he always keeps in the garage.” Said Nora from behind her, “I know it’s not perfect, but that’s the best I can do for now.”

“I need Med-X, maybe two or three more stimpaks, scalpels, sterile thread and needles, and medical equipment to proceed to a blood transfusion as soon as possible, or he may die.”

She was shrieking and shivering, unable to focus. She didn’t felt competent enough to perform such an act of surgery, not with these weak eyes, this blurry vision and these two incapable, shaking hands. Nora grabbed her by her shoulder and shook her a bit, then spoke to her, as calmly as she could:

“Curie. You’re a good physician. You will manage to do it. Do your best for now with the med-kit, keep him stable. I’ll need an hour to go to Sanctuary and back with all you need, do you think you can wait that long?”

She nodded and turned to Danse, mentally enumerating all the steps she needed to accomplish. Following each one with extreme caution, she firstly applied a tourniquet, cleaned the injury, and then she injected a stimpak into it. From now, the medicine would repair the damaged tissues and stop the lethal bleeding for good. She counted to two hundred, the time needed for the stim’ to work, and when Nora came back she finally stitched the cut, applied generous amounts of antiseptics to prevent any infection, and splinted the fracture. With Nora’s help, she had proceeded to the blood transfusion, giving him two blood bags before she was sure he’d recover.

After the transfusion, Nora had left her alone to inspect the area, and Curie finally took some time to take a break. She brought the old office chair from the back room at his bed post and sat, eyes riveted on her patient.

It had taken long, painful hours of hard work, after which Curie checked once, twice, ten times. Her patient’s pulse was still low, but steady. He wasn’t off the hook yet, but at least his complexion was coming to a more healthy tone, now. She idly stared at Danse, laying half naked on the bed after she had been forced to cut his flight suit open to examine him. The first word which came to Curie’s mind was “huge”, and the soldier seemed even more impressive in the small single bed. She also noted that, accordingly to her data about secondary sex characteristics in the human species, his body hair was much more noticeable than hers: evenly distributed on the chest, hair implantation narrowed alongside the linea alba down to the navel, before growing wider again to join the pubic area she barely guessed under the sheet.  

“Curie, I think we have another patient!”

Nora’s voice behind her back startled her and she felt suddenly guilty for seemingly no reason. She faced her friend, her face burning red, and Nora crossed her arms and arched a sly brow, a lopsided smile blooming on her lips, yet she said nothing, just lead Curie behind the Station, were a teenage boy in raiders attire laid unconscious.  
  
“I found him that way, but he’s still breathing.” stated Nora before asking, “What do you want to do with him?”

Curie sighed and rubbed her eyes before saying:  
“Well, isn’t it obvious, Madame? We need to bring him inside so I can take care of him, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for my (non-existent) writing skill. I swear I try hard, but it's not easy :( !  
> I hope it is still readable, though.
> 
> Thank you for your interest and your time <3 !


	4. Tin cans and low blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in Curie(o)sity: After a trip to Boston, Curie and Nora found out the Red Rocket Station has been attacked by super mutants.  
> Though victorious, Danse, its only inhabitant, suffered from serious injuries only Curie could tend.  
> And when she thought it was finally over, Nora discovers another casualty : a lonely raider kid.
> 
> Discover a new episode of Curi(e)osity now!  
> A story about leering, healing and punching handsome boys.

The day that followed the attack on Red Rocket was bright and warm. When Curie opened her eyes, after a well earned night of sleep, she caught the sunlight peaking trough the shack’s wooden walls, adorning the tattered planks with a marvelous patchwork of golden hues. The view made her smile, and she inhaled deeply, to catch each and every smell carried by the summer breeze.

To her dismay, it smelled nothing but rotting burnt mutant flesh, centuries-old dust and garbage. Commonwealth was such a disappointing place, she thought as she rose and buttoned up her flannel shirt. 

The day started with a routine check on the young raider’s health, in the next room of the "clinic”, for a lack of better word. It was nothing but a wooden shack with a ramshackle door and a roof of questionable efficiency made out of oilcloth, but it had been the only unoccupied shelter in the settlement when she and Nora had found the boy. The place had nothing in common with the well equipped clinic and lab she lived in, in Nora’s former house in Sanctuary Hills, but she’d had to deal with it for now.

With a courteous nod, Curie greeted the minuteman on duty who stood next to the bed. Since the day before, and even if he’d given no sign of consciousness,the young raider had been put under watch by Nora’s order. Curie disapproved. The wastelander was slender and short, and even if she couldn’t guess his exact age, he wasn’t older than fifteen years old... He was no threat she couldn’t handle, even on her own and with bare hands.  

The guard informed her that the teenager had not woken up yet. Curie dutifully recorded the data on the file she kept on his bedpost, a practical usage she’d read about in prewar medicine textbooks.

When they had found him, they had noticed he had a bruise on the neck and a wound above the head that looked like a slegdehammer blow. She had concluded that he suffered from a concussion, had injected him a stimpak to stabilize him and they had carefully moved him in the shack. With further observations, the scientist had also noticed on the kid a list of symptoms she’d already observed on many wastelanders: shaky limbs, abnormally slow movement of the eyeball under closed lids during sleep, dry skin and red patches around mouth... There were all signs that he suffered from Jet addiction. When she had shared her conclusions, Nora had expressed a form of pity for the youngster, when Curie had scientifically stated that she’d never seen this on such a young subject. For a moment, she had thought she could use his case to write a paper about the effects of Jet on non-adult brains; but she’d quickly remembered that probably no one would read it. Instead, she decided that she would administrate him some Addictol when he’d wake up, as they were nothing else she could do.  
  
She checked his vitals, took a few additional notes and  injected her patient another stimpak. Before leaving, she remembered the guard to notify her of any change he could observe.

Outside, she was surprised to see that the station was already buzzing with activity. Two minutemen were patrolling around the settlement, while two others were doing their best to get rid of the pile of mutant corpses Danse had set on fire, for some reason only he could understand. Hearing banging and tickling sounds in the garage, she poked her head around the door, to fin Sturges working on a suit of power armor. Her heart accelerated slightly and she felt a strange tickling in her belly. Even before she could think about it, she found herself staring at his broad shoulders and greasy hands. In her mind, she dutifully noted that when she’d feel ready to experience romantic interactions, she’d ask Monsieur Sturges if he would agree to show her, and the thought made her blush.  
When he noticed her, he greeted her with a charming blink and a broad smile, and she felt the blush crawling even hotter on her cheeks. Feeling stupid, she looked for something to say:

“You seem to be very talented with these hands of yours, Monsieur Sturges!” was the best she could come out with, and the unwanted innuendo made her feel utterly stupid. She lowered her head and wished to disappear into the ground.

The mechanic didn’t seem to notice or to care, as he went on his repairing job while answering: 

”I guess I’m not too bad, Doc! You know, with what happened yesterday,” he looked at her and absentmindedly scratched his jaw, smearing black grease on his chin, “Nora asked me to take a look at the garage. She doesn’t want to delay Operation Tin Cans...” 

Curie couldn’t hold back the soft giggle the project’s name always elicited. Of course, the project had been Danse’s idea. Its unofficial name, not so much...

She remembered quite well the meeting that initiated “Operation Tin cans”.

Nora’s closest friends and allies had been invited at a gathering in her Sanctuary headquarters. At this time, Curie had been a synth for less than three weeks, the Institute was still the Boogeyman of the Commonwealth, and Danse, freshly banished from the Brotherhood of Steel, had found it to be the perfect occasion to redeem for his past unfriendly attitude.   
  
For both synths, it had been the very first meeting they’d been invited to, and everyone was ready to listen to the newcomers’ projects Nora had talk so little about... “Plans to make the Commonwealth a safer place” was all she’d told them. The atmosphere had been buzzing with both caution and curiosity, and Curie had spoke first.   
Her own great project was a complete and illustrated inventory of the Wasteland’s wildlife, and how to kill it, if necessary. Aside from a very enthusiastic Nora, her audience had seemed a little taken aback by the outlook, miss Cait in particular, who didn’t understood quite well how anyone could “save their shit of a life thanks to some dull, smartass comic book.”

When it had been Danse’s turn, he had stood tall in front of the assembly, his military bearing and furrowed brows increasing the ever-so-seriousness of his voice, and he had explained how grateful he felt towards Nora for giving him a shelter, the Red Rocket Station, after his disgrace, and that in return for her selfless acts, he had promised to help her with her Minutemen duties with the best of his abilities:

“You, Commonwealth Minutemen, are strong-willed but you lack of striking power. As a synth, I doubt that I can be of any value for your cause...” he had said, looking straightly at Preston and Nora, and blatantly ignoring Nick Valentine’s annoyed exclamation, “... but I’m not bad with power armors. General Miller, Nora, therefore offered me to be the leader of a plan to protect the Minutemen settlements across the Commonwealth. This strategy I call “The Strong Arm Plan” resides in three steps: first, gathering as much power armor parts we could salvage; then, repairing said power armor; and finally, dispatching at least one functional power armor per settlement. It will be a tremendous opportunity to enhance the citizen’s protection again raiders, mutants or Institute forces...”

Most minutemen, starting with Ronnie Shaw and Preston Garvey, had almost immediately endorsed the plan, but mayor Hancock had laughed and jeeringly called it “the Tin Can Project”, making everyone laugh -aside from Danse.- 

And like that, the name remained.

Curie wondered how many settlements had received their power armor to this day, more than six months after the project’s debut, but Sturges’s friendly voice cut her thought off:

“I’m sorry, miss, but would you mind to stand up? You’re charming and I love your company, but you’re seated on my toolbox, and I really need to get that damn screwdriver...”

Curie apologized, jumped off the workbench and quickly walked away, her cheeks bafflingly red and burning. 

To get rid of her embarrassment, she focused on her duty: Danse’s health needed to be checked as well. The soldier lived just inside the former shop, next to the garage, and she was about to enter when her gaze stopped on one of the walls. When he’d moved at the station, the former Paladin had closed the broken windows with wooden boards, to secure the place and allow himself some intimacy. Later, when he’d been rescued from the Institute, Shaun had sketched childish chalk drawings on the planks, and now, the colorful flowers and monsters and rockets were coated with grime and mutant blood. Feeling a little sad, she wiped off as much dirt as she could, before entering the house.

In the dimly lit room, Danse had not seen her yet. He was seated on his bed, arched on his right arm, and she suspected that he was trying to take the brace off. She coughed loudly and he looked at her.

“Good morning, Monsieur Danse.” she stated.

“I can’t work with that thing on my arm, Curie.” he replied, ignoring her polite salutation. She walked towards him, lit the lamp that rested on the counter, and asked him how he felt.

“I’m fine.” he lied. He was paler than usual, and his exhausted eyes were circled with dark shadows. He tried to rise up from the bed, only to wince in pain and return to sitting.

She cleaned her hands, silently thanking the soldier’s practical mind for the kitchen sink he’d settled in the main room, and went back to him. 

“You don’t _look_ fine at all, Paladin.” 

He gritted his teeth and said nothing. She checked on his arm first, her careful touch still making him hiss in pain when she poked at the wound. It was going to leave a scar in his arm, but at least he was safe. She then put her cold, professional hand on his forehead, looking for any trace of fever. His skin was damp, but he was normally warm, not febrile. 

“Good. I see no sign of infection.” she said, her eyes grazing the thick, dark, shaggy hair on his head. They seemed so soft, she wished to touch it. For a moment, she even considered faking some medical examination to tangle her fingers in it, stopped only by the sudden memory of Dr. Burrows and Dr. Collins’s disputes about medical ethics. Curie backed off.

“But you seem to be in great pain...” she said blankly, silently asking him what was wrong. He sighed and, at last, he complied. Placing his left hand on his right side, just under his chest muscle, he stated that it was aching.

“It feels like being stabbed.” he added, wincing in pain when he tried to remove the plain white T-shirt he was wearing to let her proceed to further checking.

Her brows knitted with concern. Maybe she hadn’t been careful enough the day before, maybe there was something she’d missed... She pushed him onto the bed and slowly poked at his rib cage, eyes closed to focus on the way the bones felt under her touch. When she reached his back, it took her a minute to find out what was wrong: his fourth rib was cracked.

“What can you do?” he asked her.

“Aside from asking you to take some rest, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do...” she said, cautiously taking her hand back from his side. From the moment she had found the crack, she had been massaging his flesh with sorry gentleness, completely unaware that for an instant, her medical touch had turned into something softer, almost cuddly.

“I’ll fetch you some Med-X and plant concoctions to kill the pain. If you want, I can inject you another stimpak, but it will be painful, for a very low efficiency.” 

He blinked at her, a look of confusion on his face, so she explained:

“You see, stimpak makes your tissues regenerate faster, but bone tissue is so very slow that even with a shot, it’ll take up to four weeks for you to feel better...”

He put his shirt back, with quite awkward moves to prevent from another rush of pain;  and then he shook his head and replied with irritation:

“But I have work to do! Nora trusted me with the Strong Arm Plan, I can’t let her down!”

“ Paladin, I understand, but what did not work for your radius and ulna won’t work for your rib either... Besides, I’m very sure that madame wishes you to get better before you work for her. She sent monsieur Sturges here, and he is already in the garage, ready to replace you on the tin...”

Danse scowled at her, so Curie immediately stopped and tried something less touchy:  
  
“Madame and I brought some books back from our last voyage in Boston’s ruins... If you like to read, do you want me to bring you one or two, to pass the time?” 

He looked away from her, sighed, and finally nodded. Curie flashed him her brightest smile and, to her great surprise, his lips twitched, and she would bet all her caps that for a very brief moment, Danse smiled back at her. 

A knock on the door broke the moment; the kid was awoken and needed Curie’s assistance. 

“Which kid?” asked the paladin, crossing his arm in front of him. 

He probably wished she didn’t notice this, but he obviously grimaced when a stinging pain hit his side. 

“The raider kid.” she said before leaving the house. 

He followed her, asking for explanations. The synth girl told him when and how Nora had found the teenager, and did her best to ignore the threatening scowl growing on the soldier’s face. 

“You’re keeping a raider, alive, under my roof?” he barked at her, his posture suddenly rigid. Sometimes, Curie thought with a sigh, Nora’s friends were so very displeasing...  When some tall, buff and unhappy soldier tried to intimidate her, she really missed that buzz saw arm of hers. 

Danse was standing in her way now, preventing her from enter the clinic, ranting on how thoughtless she was, and how she should better kill any threat instead of trying to save their life. When he asked her if she had checked on the mutant’s vitals, too, their little argument had turned so loud that the Minutemen had stopped their patrols, Sturges had dropped his tools, and everyone was looking at them with curious eyes and half-smiles.

Curie tilted her chin up to face the soldier’s angry glare, and when she understood that he wasn’t going to move an inch to let her do her job, she clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. 

This was enough.

“Monsieur Danse, you will let me enter this room, or I’ll have to break all medical ethics and use force to make you move.”

“I’d be curious to see that.” he sneered at the petite, frail French girl in front of him. 

“ _Très bien_. Just remember that you asked for it.” she said before she punched him in the ribs. He tripped out of her way and she entered the clinic, after dropping a friendly piece of advice:

“Never mess with your doctor, Monsieur, for she knows where to hit.”

“You, filthy synth...” he snarled, holding his aching side under both his hands.

“ So are you, then. Good day, Monsieur.”

She slammed the clinic door behind her, swaying the shack’s walls.

The kid in the bed looked at her with with awe, his hands shaking on the worn out blanket. Curie closed her eyes and took a few deep breath to calm her temper. When she talked to him, her voice was back to her usual soft, polite tone, even if her heart still raced in her chest and her cheeks were still burning.

“Hello, my name is Curie, and I’m here to take care of you. What’s your name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys thank you for your time!  
> I've been away last week, and I won't be here next week either so I'll do my best to publish two or three chapters this week.
> 
> Next time in _Curie(o)sity_ : Gossips, airships and preparation for Nora's birthday party!


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